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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29247090">Bloom Street</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/galastyles/pseuds/galastyles'>galastyles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>50s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Guitarist Niall Horan, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, Singer Harry Styles, Underage Smoking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:07:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,904</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29247090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/galastyles/pseuds/galastyles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s three ways out of the neighbourhood. You join the army and then maybe you get killed. You get mobbed up and then maybe you get killed that way. Or, you get famous. </p><p>For Harry Styles it was two out of three. </p><p>50s AU. Louis works in a bowling alley. Harry’s the lead singer of the band Bloom Street who have a regular gig at they alley, going by the pseudonym Oliver “Oli” Nicks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Female Character(s), Niall Horan/Original Female Character(s), Zayn Malik/Liam Payne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: Oh What A Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! So this is something that’s been in the back of my head for a LONG time. Anyone who knows me knows i’m a complete sucker for anything set in the 50s-70s. </p><p>I’m going to start by saying that this is based off of the story of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons and Harry’s character is based on Frankie. It follows the plot of the movie, the west end show (Jersey Boys) and the actual story. It’s not going to be 100% accurate to it and will have my own characters and turns and different plot lines included. I’m not saying I know anything about it because I know the story as it’s told and I enjoy their music but that’s about where my knowledge stops. This also might not be completely accurate to the time period of the 50s/60s but I’ve done some research and tried to make it as accurate as I could! </p><p>It focuses widely on Harry and the bands story.</p><p>This will also be dropping in chapters but I’m not going to give myself an update schedule I’m going to do this whenever I’m in a good mood to. I’ll try to update frequently though. </p><p>It includes some sensitive topics and I’ve added everything I could think of into the tags (if i’ve missed something please let me know!) </p><p>Please don’t translate or take my work. Thank you!</p><p>If you want to follow me you can on Twitter &amp; Instagram @ jacksescapade or Tumblr @ disneydimples.</p><p>I’ll also be referencing The Four Seasons music throughout this :) </p><p>Right, so I think that’s it? </p><p>Special thank you to Camille for making me covers, running through scenes with me and letting me send my writing, I couldn’t ask for more. This fic is all for you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oh What A Night. Ces Soirées-La. French. That’s their song. Bloom Street. Number 1 in 2000. Twenty five years after its original release.</p><p>You might be thinking, how did that happen? How did a few kids from Belleville who were constantly proving to cause trouble happen to end up in one of the biggest bands known to man? Being inducted into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame? Maybe you’re not.</p><p>Either way, there’s only one person to go to if you want the story. </p><p>Tommy Hill. </p><p>If it wasn’t for Tommy they’d all be in the back of a trunk with a bullet shot through their heads. That’s what he says anyway. </p><p>There’s even a street named after him. </p><p>It doesn’t come easy, fame. You’ve got to have talent and skill and a whole lot of luck. </p><p>A lot of luck.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wandering Sparrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Enter Harry Styles.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>BELLEVILLE, NEW JERSEY. 1951.</p><p>Harry Styles is fourteen years old when he gets hired at Bloomfield’s Barber shop, dreams of becoming a famous singer long from reality. </p><p>It’s small. Local. Simple. Spiral red, blue and white lights showing the shops presence. There’s nothing too extravagant about it, nothing extraordinary apart from the overwhelming smell of leather seats and shampoo.</p><p>And naturally, from his young age and lack of training, Harry mostly gets stuck with a broom in his hand and making frustratingly weak cups of tea. He’s not complaining though, he’s still getting paid and for a fourteen year old that’s enough. </p><p>He’s fifteen when they finally start letting him get some hands on experience. He’s fifteen when twenty one year old Thomas Hill ropes him into another of his schemes. </p><p>**</p><p>It’s a Thursday spring afternoon when the shops particularly quiet and Harry’s stuck with a broom in hand again, half tilting his chin against the top and humming a short melody at the back of his throat. </p><p>Al’s the only client in the salon and Harry knows him well enough to comfortably sing in front of him, pushing his tongue against the gum in his mouth until it slots between the back of his teeth. </p><p>He’s an old man with slicked backed hair and a thick accent, threatening nonetheless, head of the New Jersey mob. Harry’s mother wants him to have nothing to do with the likes of Al Devore but she’s far too late to stop him now. </p><p>“Harry.” </p><p>He slowly turns his head towards the man in the chair with his head tilted back, a man dabbing shaving cream over his face, Harry’s fingers grasping onto the broom.</p><p>“Where’s my single?”</p><p>He pushes the bristles of the broom against the tiles of the floor, snapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He takes little to no notice of the man standing by the door, blank stare and bald headed, head to toe in a three piece suit. Being head of a mob has its security. </p><p>“Coming up, Mr. Devore.” He’s naive and young but he’s not completely stupid. He knows how to keep on people’s good side, especially a Mob leader who could turn his existence into a mere memory of photos and conversations. </p><p>He picks the broom up with one hand, his fingers snaking further down the wood until he has a firm grip, tilting it to the side and walks out their way. </p><p>“Vito.” Al starts again, craning his neck to the side, the brush tickling over his skin as his eyes move to the man tending to him in a white barbers jacket. He’s much older than Harry, much younger than Al, hugely underestimating the fifteen year olds capabilities. “When are you going to give my boy his own chair?”</p><p>He teeters back, innocent eyes watching his boss and Al as he pinches the edge of the spoon, stirring the probably-too-strong tea in the china cup. A vague smile dimples into his mouth, at least somebody has faith in him and Al of everyone is quite the compliment.</p><p>“He’s not ready for that.” Vito responds simply, pulling the brush back from his face, Harry’s smile faltering. </p><p>He frowns, pushing his gum forward in his mouth before approaching the two with the cup in hand, the fan in the room whirring a little faster in the almost silent atmosphere. The only noise comes from the blow of wind, feet shuffling against the floor and clink of china against the saucer. </p><p>“Here you go-”</p><p>Al cuts the boy off before he has chance to get any further, Harry nervously peering between the cream coloured floor and deep green walls. </p><p>“Harry, you wanna give me a shave?” </p><p>Vito stares at him, mouth agape just at the thought of someone he still considers practically useless having a razor near a mob leader.</p><p>“Um,” Harry hesitates, his hands a little unsteady as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, awkwardly scratching the back of his head before he nods in agreement, almost too afraid to say no. “Yeah, sure thing.” </p><p>“Give him the razor,” Al demands impatiently after a beat of silence, Harry swallowing before stepping behind the chair, his hip pressed against the counter.  “Go ahead.”</p><p>Vito hesitates before pulling the tool from his pocket, pressing it into Harry’s hand as he steps towards the sink, pulling Harry in by his vest. “Be careful.” He mutters, fumbling for the towel draped over the side of the sink bowl, turning the cold tap on a moment later. As if Harry isn’t nervous enough already.</p><p>He sheepishly nods back, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip in anticipation when the cool stream of water flows into the sink, the noise sounding through the shop. His shoulders tense as he flicks the razor forward, one hand pulling on the back of his apron to make sure it’s still tightly knotted against his waist.</p><p>“He’s not gonna cut my throat.” Al gruffly responds to the short interaction, his eyes barely meeting Harry’s as Vito flicks the tap off again, flicking his hands into the sink. “Are you Harry?” He finishes with a hint of amusement, tilting his head back for the boy.</p><p>Harry tries to laugh, tries to find the funny part of the situation but all that leaves his mouth is a scared peep, his lips gently parting before he shakes his head, forming his anxiety behind a low cough. “No, Mr. Devore.” He takes a safe step forward, his eyebrows scrunching inwards in concentration. “Of course not.”</p><p>“Lot of people like to eh?” The man jokes again with a hearty laugh, Harry mustering up the courage to laugh back at his joke. “Nice and close, Harry.” </p><p>He nods back, his tongue heavy in his mouth and his throat dry as he carefully places the razor to the side of Al’s jawline, his other hand securely pressed to the back of his head for support, though whether that be for himself or Al he’s not certain. </p><p>He flicks the razor down over a small section of his neck once before the door bursts open with a loud shout, Harry jumping back on his feet as the tool slips from his fingers, cutting straight down the man’s upper jaw.</p><p>“We-heeey!” The voice shouts, a man no older than twenty two slamming the door shut behind himself, the usual sweet, high pitched tinkering of the bell thudding back and forth against the door pane. He’s holding at least two bags and a buttercup yellow guitar case, a cocky swagger to his walk with his dark, quipped back greaser style hair and caramel eyes. “Party time!” </p><p>“Shit!” Harry exclaims in a short panic, his palms sweaty as he watches the blood dribble down Al’s chin, the razor clattering to the floor with a solid thunk. Vito hits the towel against his shoulder while swearing in Italian, Harry flinching back at the sudden feeling.</p><p>“What?” The young man stares at the commotion in pure confusion though a hint of a bored attitude mocks his eyes. He drops the bags and case to the floor, kicking one bag to stay upright against the coat rack hung with scarves and hats before he shrugs his own jacket from his shoulders, rubbing his hands together. </p><p>He watches Harry and Vito desperately scramble around to try and clean Al who’s pressed a singular finger to the cut, glaring at him as warm afternoon sunlight pours through the open blinds.</p><p>He can’t help but snort at Harry’s panic stricken body, his hands slightly shaky and eyes wide like a lost puppy. </p><p>“What?” He repeats, sliding a hand underneath his shirt to rest on his hip. </p><p>“Can you pass the witch hazel?” Harry mutters, his hand vaguely reaching for the bottle before he dabs it against the cotton wool ball in his hand, tilting the bottle upside down. </p><p>“Ah.” Tommy realises, his shoulders hunching into a shrug before he drops them, clasping his hands together. “Sorry.”</p><p>“I’m sorry Mr. Devore.” Harry mutters, tentatively pressing the cotton to the cut and rests a hand on his shoulders, letting it hover for a moment. </p><p>To Harry’s surprise he doesn’t shout back at him, instead his eyes narrowing into an ever present glare at Tommy who shoves his hands into his pockets. “Maybe you should phone ahead Tommy!” He shouts, his Jersey accent thick in the air. </p><p>“I didn’t figure, Al. I’m sorry.” Tommy shrugs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the comment. He wasn’t the one who just cut his neck. He takes a confident step forward, lowering his head to push his hair back in the mirror.</p><p>“I figured. You usually don’t.” Al quips back, Harry moving back the blood stained cotton ball from the side of his chin. </p><p>He shrugs again, flicking a coin he stole from a phone box earlier into the air before catching it between two fingers with a sly grin and wild eyes. </p><p>“Harry, move, I’ll finish it.” Vito pushes his hand onto Harry’s chest until he stumbles backwards, his stomach knotting. The one chance he gets and Tommy fucks it up. Just great. </p><p>“Vito, calm down.” Al’s voice relaxes as he turns to look at Harry. “What’s a little blood between friends, eh?” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Harry mutters again, rubbing his hands against his trousers. “I’m really-“</p><p>“It’s fine.” He interrupts, beckoning the boy back over with a flick of the hand to finish the job. </p><p>** </p><p>Al Devore. Sure, they have elections but if you want something done in Jersey? Al’s the man and Tommy well, he had a...special relationship with him.</p><p>“Tommy. Did you pick up my dry cleaning?” </p><p>Harry’s sat on the backseat of the 1946 Bentley with its cream leather seats and pale green appearance, next to Al. He slouches down a little more into the leather while exhaling a sigh, bobbing his foot that’s crossed over one leg, his long legs uncomfortably pressed against the front seat that Tommy’s in.</p><p>He’s rolled the window down just a creak, a cigarette lazily hanging out the left side of his mouth with one hand on the wheel. </p><p>“Already at your house Al.” He responds simply, his eyes on the rode and words slightly muffled through his cigarette.</p><p>He doesn’t thank him, nor does he say anything else for a short moment, Harry blankly staring at the back of his friends head. </p><p>“Drop Harry home.” He pauses, patting a firm hand over Harry’s thigh, cigarette smoke spiralling back into his face. “Then take me home.”</p><p>Tommy almost scoffs underneath his breath, clearing his throat as he turns the corner, continuing down the streetlight lit road. “Right away.” </p><p>Al turns his attention back to Harry, his hand still hovering over his thigh. “You doing your exercises?” </p><p>He rubs the tip of his nose, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the trails of smoke remains. “Yeah.” </p><p>“A voice like yours is a gift Harry, the world’s going to hear that voice. You understand?” He takes a more serious tone laced between genuine concern, looking down at the teenager. </p><p>Harry sighs, trailing small patterns into his leg before his eyes avert to the empty streets. “Sure, Mr. Devore..it’s just.” He sighs again, eyebrows furrowing and he’s not sure if it’s from frustration or a growing need of desperation. “I wish things would start happening.”</p><p>The older man smiles, somewhat in sympathy, somewhat in amusement at his need for things to progress at such a fast pace. “Impatient, huh?” </p><p>He shrugs, his shoulders slouching against his body, eyes still trained against the passing landscape. “I suppose.” </p><p>“Don’t worry.” He squeezes his thigh in reassurance before moving back, staring out the front window as Tommy continues the slow paced drive. “You work hard and everything follows. Ain’t that right Tommy?” </p><p>Tommy grins, it’s self pretentious and alluringly charming. In a word, narcissistic. He raises his free hand in the air, pulling the cigarette from his lips and taps the ash out against the window before placing it back to his mouth with a small puff of air. He raises his free hand in the air again, pressing his palm flat down over his chest. “Bigger than Sinatra, my hand to God, Al.”</p><p>There’s three ways out of the neighbourhood. You join the army and then maybe you get killed. You get mobbed up and then maybe you get killed that way. Or you get famous. </p><p>For Harry Styles it was two out of three.</p><p>They continue on the drive in near silence, Tommy coming to a stop outside the suburban, almost painfully normal, Styles residency. The only source of noise is the low rumble of the car engine and quiet chirp of a cricket hidden in the grass nearby. He reaches for the handle, swinging one leg towards open air when Al takes his arm, his head whizzing around to look at the man. </p><p>“Be careful Harry.” </p><p>He smiles, something sincere and sweet and real. He hasn’t seen that in a while. And so Harry smiles back, carefully ducking his head out of the car and grabs his bag from the floor, slinging it over one shoulder. </p><p>“Thanks for the ride Mr. Devore. Bye.” He shuts the door after half bunny hopping from the car, Tommy shouting his goodbye through the window when he’s half way across the front garden, the next door neighbours tom-cat curling its thin body around his legs as he attempts to reach for his keys in his back pocket.</p><p>He watches the car speed away when he finally gets a hold of the keys, crouching down to pet the cat behind the ear as it purrs loudly from the affection, rubbing its cold little nose against his fingers. </p><p>“Soon.” He whispers with a small dimple present smile, swinging his keys around one finger, their soft clatter and jingle sounding as they bump against each other on the chain. “Things are going to start soon. I can feel it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Silhouettes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry Styles really shouldn’t drive and Niall Horan doesn’t stop swearing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You know what I don’t understand?” Harry sighs, slumping his arms against the kitchen table, his fork limply hanging between his fingers with half a plateful of spaghetti in front of him. </p>
<p>Here we go again, he thinks, watching his mother stir the pot of leftover spaghetti with her bright red lipstick and cheap perfume. “I don’t understand your infatuation with these..” She pauses, searching for the right words. Whatever she says won’t stop him hanging around with them. She finally continues, half off subject from her last point. “If you hang around with them, you’ll either end up dead or in jail.”</p>
<p>“She’s right you know.” His father interrupts, barely looking up at the two from his newspaper. He’s already read it once today and doesn’t Harry know it after being sent for it in the early hours of the morning. “Just listen. Learn something.”</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t respond, there’s no use in it, they won’t change their opinions and maybe they’re right but he’s a kid and who’s he to listen to a voice of authority? He drops his fork back onto the plate, standing up from his chair as he pushes his jacket back over his shoulders.</p>
<p>“I’ve gotta go.”</p>
<p>“Finish your dinner.” Anthony interrupts again, pointing back to his seat. </p>
<p>“I’ve finished!” He defends, two hands raising in the air as he pushes his chair underneath the table with a kick of the foot. He carefully swerves over to his mother, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek when Tommy bursts through the door, striding into the kitchen like he lives in the place. He seems to have that effect. </p>
<p>“Hello.” He smiles, striding over to Jude and peers into the pan. “Mrs. Styles.” He nods, placing both of his hands palm down on the counter as Harry downs the last of his drink, sliding the glass towards the sink. </p>
<p>“Hey Tom.” She greets back, slightly impatient. “You hungry?” </p>
<p>“I’m fine thank you.” He smiles, half cheeky, half seductive with a quick wink. </p>
<p>“Where are you going?” Anthony raises an eyebrow, flattening the newspaper down onto the empty space on the table. </p>
<p>“Uh, rehearsal.” Harry stammers back, edging towards the back door. </p>
<p>“Yeah, we got a rehearsal this Friday. Dance at the high school.” Tommy smoothly covers his lie with a charming smile, patting a hand down on Harry’s shoulder. </p>
<p>“You better not be drinking or using drugs.” </p>
<p>Tommy snorts, dismissively waving a hand in the air as Jude hurries around the kitchen. “Him?” He points his thumb towards Harry, jabbing it into his chest. “Forget it. The kids an angel.” He pauses, adjusting one of the crooked frames in the kitchen before turning back. “He sounds like one too. Where does he get that from? You or your wife?” </p>
<p>The man scoffs, twirling his fork around a swirl of spaghetti. “Not me.”</p>
<p>“Not you?” He takes a step forward, resting his hand down on Harry’s chair as Jude turns around, pushing a paper bag into Tommy’s hand. </p>
<p>“Hmm. What’s that?” He raises an eyebrow, slowly taking the bag from her.</p>
<p>“Please. Keep an eye on Harry.” She motions one hand towards Harry who awkwardly stares at the tiles of the floor, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. God she treats him like a child, he’s old enough to take care of himself! </p>
<p>“Mrs. Styles, I’ll never let anything happen to Harry,” He pauses, raising a hand in the air and glances between the son and mother. “My hand to God.” </p>
<p>She sighs, moving her own hand to rest on his shoulder. “This is for later. Gimme a kiss.” Tommy moves one arm, rustling through the bag before they kiss each other’s cheeks, Jude  kissing Harry’s forehead and pulling him into a one armed hug. “The two of you, be careful. I want you home by eleven o clock.” She raises an eyebrow, a sternness laced between her words as Tommy starts to walk towards the door. “No later, Harry.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, alright!” He shouts, already half in the hallway, trailing after Tommy like a puppy after its owner. “Eleven o clock! Got it!” </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>“Alright, Harry.” He crosses his arms over each other, licking both lips in the back of Tommy’s car, Niall mindlessly tapping his fingers against the window. “You look, you listen. Understand?” Tommy turns his head back, drumming his hand against the wheel with an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. </p>
<p>All Harry does is nod, Niall not even glancing in their direction, deep in thought. </p>
<p>“What’s the high sign?” Tommy tests, still glancing back while he drives at a slow pace down the mostly dimly lit street. There’s still a few windows illuminating shade lamps through the glass and thin curtains.</p>
<p>“Silhouettes.” He responds as though it’s obvious, pushing his leg up to fiddle with his sock, his nail tracing over his ankle. He shuffles his foot back down, bouncing his foot against the other. </p>
<p>Tommy grins, turning his attention back to the wheel, Niall still completely silent in the passengers seat. They come to a stop underneath a streetlight with a dim orange glow, flickering on and off then and again. </p>
<p>Tommy turns his body to face Harry who presses his hand into the backseat, pivoting his body across the seat, his hand hovering over the handle.</p>
<p>“Alright. Come on, this is real. The real thing. Don’t screw this up. It’s the real thing.” He raises an eyebrow, his older age masking his authority as Harry swings one leg out the door. </p>
<p>“Got it.” He nods, Niall shooting him a thumbs up as he edges his foot onto the curb, shutting the door once he’s steadily on the ground. </p>
<p>Niall’s three years older than him, barely turned eighteen. He’s Tommy’s cousin and part of the Variety Trio with Jasper Miller and Tommy. They’re criminally underrated, just missing a small flare, a kick, that small flare right underneath their noses. </p>
<p>“You’ve got this.” He reassures, his voice much more comforting than Tommy’s commands. </p>
<p>“Alright ladies, enough with the catch up. Business calls. Don’t fuck up, H.” That same stern voice returns, Harry’s stomach knotting in anxiety. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before the car speeds off down the road, the tires hissing against the tarmac. </p>
<p>He sighs, shakily threading his fingers through his hair and shivers from the cold, glancing down the road to check that nobody’s around. He kicks his foot against the lamppost, dragging his shoe over the pavement in boredom. With any luck nobody will show up. </p>
<p>He hovers between the shops and houses, pacing the road while trailing his fingers over his jacket, tugging on the silk material in the pocket for a distraction. Well, maybe it’s Tommy’s jacket. Well..maybe not exactly. He stole it for him but what’s the difference? </p>
<p>He licks his lip, eyes nervously scanning the street when he spots an officer, his body freezing up in nerves. He hears the slow footsteps before he sees him, the man dressed in a tweed jacket and blue uniform, his hand poised on a baton in his belt. </p>
<p>He’s got this, he knows what he’s doing.</p>
<p>He pinches his bottom lip between his fingers, one hand casually resting on his hip as he angles his head back, beginning to sing to a still lit window. It’s a simple song, Silhouettes, his impressive falsetto range easily hitting every note. </p>
<p>He turns his head back, blinking at the officer who raises his eyebrow, shoes clinking against the pavement. </p>
<p>“Hey, Officer Mike.” He relaxes his voice, pinching his hip to calm himself down, his voice just slightly shaky. </p>
<p>“Hi Harry.” He responds simply, eyebrow still raised in questioning. “What are you doing? What’s with the concert?”</p>
<p>“Uh.” He sucks in a breath, hiding his panic in the pit of his stomach and nods his head towards a brick wall. “Just practicing. This place has great acoustics at..” He furrows his eyebrows, carefully treading around his words. “At night. The sound bounces right off the wall there.” He flashes a charming smile, trying to mimic Tommy’s constant sweet talking to get him out of the situation. </p>
<p>“Aren’t you meant to be home by eleven?” </p>
<p>Harry swallows before he raises his hands in the air, batting them back against his chest in defeat with a deep sigh. “Alright, the truth? It’s my girl, she lives there, I’m wooing her.”</p>
<p>He looks at him with quaint amusement and a quiet chuckle, the noise deep and almost fake to the ears. “Wooing?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, you know, uh, making love with music?” His voice comes out a little more uncertain than he expects before he clears his throat, taking a step forward towards the window and begins to sing the chorus to prove his point, his voice wavering into a high pitch, hitting every note. </p>
<p>He has a unique voice, his vocal abilities allowing him to play around with everything from anything sounding like a helium-high falsetto to a soulful rasp, playfully exploring the ranges between masculine concerns and feminine expressions.</p>
<p>The curtain of the window rustles, a woman pushing it back and creaking open the window. “Hey down there! Shut the hell up, we’re trying to sleep!” </p>
<p>Harry immediately feels the dark blush crawl up onto his cheeks, his body heating up in seconds as he turns back, palms clammy. </p>
<p>“Her mother don’ like me.” He rasps, clearing his throat again a moment later, the Officer laughing as he pats a hand down on his shoulder, pushing him slightly backwards. </p>
<p>“Okay, Harry, nice try. Why don’t you get out of here before I have to run you in?”</p>
<p>He swallows, furiously nodding his head and staggers back on his feet, his head only nodding at a quicker pace the longer he stays there. “Yeah! Yeah! Sure, Mikey!” He somewhat sideways skips, stumbling on his own feet before running down the street, the Officer tilting his hat towards the woman still leaning out of her window.</p>
<p>“Sorry for the disturbance, Ma’am.” Is the last thing Harry hears, forcing his feet into a quicker run no matter how much his legs beg him not to, no matter how much his muscles ache and plead for him to stop.</p>
<p>** </p>
<p>“Fuckin’ push it!” Tommy grunts, both hands tilted on the cabinet behind the bar. Neon lights display its presence, casting gleaming beams of light green and red shadows over the side of his face, Niall bundling his body into the other end with a groan. </p>
<p>“I am fuckin’ pushin’ it! Stupid fuckin’ thing!” He shouts a little louder, his Jersey accent thicker the more agitated he becomes. He squares both of his hands against the wall, shuffling his body up and warns Tommy backwards until he’s resting between the walls, pushing his body back. He kicks both of his feet forward against the middle of it, the cabinet wobbling forwards. </p>
<p>“Fuck!” </p>
<p>“Do it again,” Tommy insists, holding both hands out so it doesn’t tumble forwards. He drops back to the ground, rubbing his hands together before he nods, propping himself back up against the wall, ignoring the splitting pain that shivers down his spine. He grunts, kicking both feet forward again and the cabinet almost topples onto Tommy, Niall dropping back to his feet to help him hold it as Harry sprints around the corner, his face pale, almost sickly. </p>
<p>He doubles over onto his knees, leaning against the car the moment he gets there, his eyes wide and lips parted, cheeks a glossy pink. </p>
<p>“Slowly! Slowly!” Niall hisses through his teeth as the two of them try and steer the heavy cabinet into the open trunk, ignoring Harry’s exasperated appearance and wheezy breaths. “You couldn’t open it inside!” He hisses again, the two stumbling a little closer to the trunk. “How you gonna open it at home?!” </p>
<p>“Shut the fuck up and push!” Tommy hisses back himself, motioning a hand out to Harry. “Get in the car, H. Get in!” </p>
<p>He barely watches the boy scamper around to the door, quickly pushing his body into the drivers seat as they manage to tilt the cabinet into the trunk. It lands with a loud crash, Niall jumping back with his hands in the air as the car tilts upwards, Harry letting out a light squeak as the front of the car raises into the air.</p>
<p>“Fuck your mothers ass!” He shouts, checking over his fingers with weary eyes before they both lower down to try and tilt the cabinet up and in, underestimating the size of the cabinet to the trunk.</p>
<p>“Go!” Tommy shouts, slamming a hand against the trunk, the cabinet half hanging in, half out in the open. “Go! Come on!” He circles around to the door, Niall still pushing his arm against it. “Step on the fucking gas Harry!” </p>
<p>Harry clumsily fiddles with the keys, trying desperately not to drop them into the pit of darkness before he starts the car, his eyes peering around at the different controls. Fuck. He slams his foot down on the pedal without a mere idea of what he’s actually doing, the car speeding forward with a clunk and a halt, his hands gripping the wheel until his knuckles turn a ghostly shade of white.</p>
<p>“Shit!” Panic rakes through his voice, the car uncontrollably speeding down the street as Niall and Tommy pick up into a frantic run after him, screaming at him. </p>
<p>“What are you doing?! Fuck! Straighten it out! Harry! Straighten it out!” </p>
<p>“I can’t!” He screeches back, only just managing to turn the wheel so he doesn’t collide into his death. He’s never driven a car before, evidently, he’s sat in the drivers seat of his fathers once, never paid attention to it.</p>
<p>“Stop the fucking car! Jackass!” Niall shouts between low breaths, his legs carrying him as quickly as he can bear as the car whirrs around the corner towards a jewellery shop. “Oh shit!” The car speeds straight into the window, coming to a sudden stop as the glass shatters around them, both Tommy and Niall jumping back in protection, Harry pushing his body as far back into the seat with his hands over his face as he can. </p>
<p>The alarm starts blaring, large clumps of broken glass covering the pavement as the noise rings in his ears, the front of the car completely through the shop with its back end hanging out into the street. Small pieces of jewellery splutter out into the road, scattered beads and expensive pearls patterning against the streetlights. </p>
<p>He jumps out of the car after his pause of shock, carefully jumping over glass as they all stare at the now open window, sharp remains of jagged glass boarding around the window panes. </p>
<p>“Holy shit..” Niall mutters under his breath, Tommy grasping both of their wrists and pulling them into a run again. </p>
<p>“Come on! We gotta go!” He whisper shouts and for the first time Harry can hear the panic and dismay in his voice, the usual calm and collectiveness, even a hint of flirtatiousness far behind him. “Are you alright?” He mutters to Harry, letting go of his wrist as they pick up into a speedy run, travelling as far from the shop as they can get, adrenaline pumping through his body as they sprint. </p>
<p>Harry merely nods, his legs beginning to ache again as the alarm becomes a distant yet annoying murmur in the back of his ear, the three of them sprinting down the dark pathways like their lives depend on it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Apple Of My Eye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What’s wrong with you?” Zayn questions the moment he spots Louis sitting cross legged behind the counter, messily scribbling words down into a notebook, a lit cigarette propped up between his fingers. </p>
<p>He takes a slow drag of the cigarette, licking his lips shortly after he puffs the smoke from the side of his mouth. “Some kids crashed their car into my dads shop last night.” He sleepily palms his fist over his eyes, Zayn dropping his bag beside him.</p>
<p>He sits opposite him, reaching forward to pull the packet of cigarettes out from his pocket, impatiently tapping his fingers against his palm to get Louis to pass him a lighter. </p>
<p>“Haven’t you got your own?” He groans back, hiding it behind his back with one hand, still scribbling down nonsense words.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but,” Zayn huffs, rolling his eyes and grabs Louis’ arm, bending it back until he yelps in pain, dropping it to the floor. He snatches it in one hand, watching the flame before he slots the cigarette at the side of his mouth, cupping one hand around it and lights it. He throws it back towards Louis through a quiet laugh, watching him protectively cradle his arm to his chest. “Mines in my bag, further to reach for.” </p>
<p>“Didn’t need to bend my fucking arm back. Jackass.” He snaps back, Zayn laughing again. </p>
<p>“That’s part of the fun.” He pauses, uncrossing his legs and stretches them out when the clatter of a ball hitting bowling pins rumbles through the air. The back of the counter isn’t carpeted unlike the rest of the flooring, it’s rather uncomfortable and cold and Zayn has no idea why they’re sitting there but Louis seems distressed enough as it is for him to be pressing him on that. He changes the subject with a silky voice, flexing his toes. “Your dad got insurance though?”</p>
<p>“Well, yeah, but the whole fucking place came down at the front. God knows what they were doing there in the first place.” </p>
<p>“Well maybe that’s a lucky escape.” Zayn counters with a weak shrug of the shoulders when the jukebox starts up, Frank Sinatra. </p>
<p>They’re not even open yet but they both know who’s playing Sinatra. Liam. </p>
<p>“Alright lads?” Ah. There he is. Right on cue. He strategically jumps over the counter, frowning before pushing his fingers through his hair and easily crouches to sit down next to Zayn, his fingers stroking over his cheek before he pecks his lips in a small butterfly kiss, clasping his hands in his laps. “Why are we sitting on the floor?” He murmurs a moment later, plucking the cigarette from Zayn and takes his own long drag, rubbing the back of his hand over the corner of his lips. </p>
<p>Zayn blinks at him, snatching his cigarette back before he pulls his thumb over Liam’s bottom lip, blowing his smoke into his mouth. </p>
<p>“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Louis mutters under his breath, only just batting his eyes up underneath thick lashes to look at the two through long scribbles of ink. “I know i’m the only one who knows about you two but you don’t need to like, practically fuck in fron’ of me.”</p>
<p>“Just because you’re still a virgin-“ </p>
<p>“Shut up!” Louis hisses, his eyes narrowing as his jaw clenches but it shouldn’t really be a thing he’s ashamed of, he’s seventeen, he’s young, he’s got time. Though, there’s probably one problem to that. He’s gay and god he wishes he had the luck that Zayn and Liam have, he supposes he’ll never meet someone in the same circumstances as he is and he’ll probably end up marrying Julie Thompsons sister Betty for the rest of his fake, unhappy heterosexual life.</p>
<p>“Oooo.” Zayn grins, tapping his finger on the end of Louis’ pen before Liam mimics the noise, the both of them quietly giggling over Sinatras voice, pressing their foreheads together before their lips connect in a smoky, somewhat sloppy yet still annoyingly sweet kiss.</p>
<p>“Children, please.” Louis teases with another eye roll, tapping the pen against his paper as they pull back from each other, Night And Day coming to a stop on the jukebox. “Put another one on.” He insists, his eyes still trained on the notebook. </p>
<p>“Gimme a dime and I will.” Liam responds flatly before he realised he doesn’t actually know why they’re still perched on the floor. </p>
<p>“Fuck off.” Louis snorts back, standing up and shuts the notebook with a heavy thud, slotting the book between his arm and the pen behind his ear. “I’ll get Joey to rig it again, for free.” He grins, slightly smug, slightly pleased with himself as Liam sighs, rising to his feet before offering his hand to Zayn to lift him up. </p>
<p>“Joe’s gonna kill you if you don’t start fucking working instead of sitting on the floor and doing..what were you doing?” Liam sighs, scratching the back of his neck before he strolls around the counter, treading his finger over his bottom lip, a light tingle electrifying his body from Zayn’s previous touch. </p>
<p>“Joey isn’t gonna do shit, he ain’t my boss.” Louis groans, his cigarette still limply hanging between his lips while ignoring his question. </p>
<p>“Yeah but Nicky is.” </p>
<p>“And Nicky would also fire both of you if he knew you were snogging behind the desk so shut the fuck up.” His voice grows a little more aggressive with every word though they’re all aware Louis wouldn’t tell anyone about them, partly because he’s a good friend, a good person, partly because they have enough shit on each other to take each other down one by one quicker than you can imagine.</p>
<p>Liam shoots both hands in the air, eyebrows raised in defence. “Alright, chill out.”</p>
<p>He huffs, tensing his arm underneath the notebook and pulls the cigarette from his mouth, blowing the smoke into the air with ease. </p>
<p>“Just leave me alone.” He palms his hand over his eyes again, scrunching his nose before swerving past the both of them towards the back room. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong with him?” Liam whispers under his breath, almost scared Louis will somehow be able to hear him from the distance. </p>
<p>Zayn lazily shrugs his shoulders, flicking ash onto the floor before he breaks out into a toothy grin, the side of his eyes crinkling. “Some kids crashed their car into his dad’s jewellery shop.”</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>It’s two days after the car crash incident when Harry slips in through the back door of the bar, shrugging his shoulders until his coat falls from his arm, draping it over a bar stool. Luckily they haven’t been caught yet but it’s only a matter of time until they match the car. He probably shouldn’t be in the bar, everyone in town seems to know his younger age, his mother’s rule of not staying out past eleven o clock. </p>
<p>Nearly every seat is taken, wide varieties of alcohol scattered on tables, middle aged women on their nights out with their friends, partners being dragged for a night out. </p>
<p>Harry’s only there to support his friends, his back slumped against the wood panelled walls as a twenty one year old passes him, beer sloshing from his glass with a rowdy laugh. He only manages to catch the end of the song, a sweet rasp of “my darlin’, I truly truly love you” sounding from Tommy, Niall quietly singing the harmonies with Jasper in the background, all three of them with guitars in hand. </p>
<p>Niall’s skilful with the guitar, his fingers easily dancing and plucking over the strings with ease, his eyes not even needing to glance down to see what chord he’s playing as he clutches his guitar pick between his teeth, only moving it when he needs to sing. </p>
<p>Tommy has all the stage presence, slightly edged further forward than the rest of the trio, his head moving in time to the beat with a quick wink and a cheeky smile, a sweet voice with deeper harmonies intertwined.</p>
<p>Jasper’s the quieter one, mysterious with dark chestnut hair carefully styled back, not a strand out of place. He glances down at the guitar every time he changes cords, fingers moving up and down in time to the song. He’ll only move forward to add in the lower chord, tilting his head against the mic. </p>
<p>Together they have the perfect chords and light harmonies, they’re just missing...something. Unbeknown to all of them that that something is standing propped up against the wall, whistling in support with a prominent grin when they finish.</p>
<p>“Thank you very much ladies and gentleman.” Tommy flashes another one of those charming smiles with fluttering lashes, that all round charisma and charm ever present. “Thank you,” He repeats through the polite applause, turning the guitar to rest on his back by the strap, Niall taking a step backwards while raising an eyebrow at Jasper who just shrugs, tuning his guitar again. “We’re the Variety Trio. I’m Tommy Hill, this is Jasper Miller.” He easily waves a hand to the man next to him, no older than twenty. “And we got my cousin Niall Horan on bass.” He grins, Niall saluting two fingers towards the small crowd before resting his hand back on the neck of his guitar.</p>
<p>“Now, right on this very stage, before I bring out the Vienna Boys Choir and Topo Gigio.” He grins again, his voice manipulating into an almost perfect impression of Ed Sullivan before  he pauses, gaining a laugh from the audience, that infectious smile prompting them along. “I would love to introduce you to a little discovery of mine.” </p>
<p>Niall and Jasper exchange relaxed looks, everything a little more obvious now. </p>
<p>“Little Harry Styles.” </p>
<p>He half jumps up from the wall, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he throws one hand in the air in questioning, clearly not expecting the sudden introduction. </p>
<p>“Come on Harry, get up here. Don’t be shy.” </p>
<p>He swallows, quickly dodging past waiters and full tables from the back of the room to get the stage with a hop, skip and a jump, the boys beginning to play in unison.</p>
<p>Tommy easily glides backwards on his feet with a cool swagger, his fingertips brushing through his hair to give him more space by the microphone. “You want your shot?” He whispers, Harry clumsily wrapping one hand around the stand before nodding his head, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “Fucking sing.”</p>
<p>He flexes his neck, Harry turning back to the crowd with nervous eyes and slightly shaky fingers, his eyes wandering over everyone from the young girl and her mother at the front of the tables to the older couple, a man smoking a thick cigar through plumes of smoke from his last. </p>
<p>He slowly starts to sing, his voice wavering into a higher pitch, worry threaded at the back of his words, his eyes momentarily squinting from the stage lights he’s unaccustomed to. The lyrics come out slower from his mouth than he intended, his body slightly hunched and brows furrowed in concentration. </p>
<p>“He’s cute.” The redhead at the front mumbles to her friend through a perfumed giggle, the tight curls of her ponytail bouncing from any hair movement, a silk green ribbon tied around the top, matching her short, flowered dress paired with light pink lipstick.</p>
<p>“He really is.” The blonde mumbles back, both of them just in earshot as Harry’s shoulders slouch in relaxation, his body slowly moving further into the song, each word sounding more confident and pleasing to hear. Even the older couple seem to like him, nodding behind glasses of shandy and cigar smoke.</p>
<p>Niall expertly mixes his vocals into the song with a quiet and ongoing “ahhh” flowing along the soft plucks of guitar strings and glass clatters. He watches Harry’s confidence slowly rise when he slings the microphone forward, rotating it into his other hand with an on growing tilt of his lip into a sly smirk, Tommy’s own grin present in seconds at what he acclaims to be his discovery accumulating quite the reaction. </p>
<p>His eyes falter over to the redhead with an anxious lip bite between a pause in lyrics, the girl smiling back at him with a short, somewhat fake giggle before he finishes the song, eyes sparkling as he dodges his head back from the mic, the crowd applauding his abilities.</p>
<p>“Say goodnight.” Tommy mutters, his hand resting over the strings of the guitar, mouth in a cocky smile from Harry’s eagerness. </p>
<p>“Goodnight.” He raises his hand into a shy wave, Jasper pulling him back by his shirt as he staggers, nearly tripping off the stage but straightens himself, shuffling his feet on the floor. </p>
<p>“Thank you very much ladies and gentleman. Thank you all for coming, hope you enjoyed your evening.” Tommy uses his charm again, a few of the girls in the back cooing and fussing over his good looks before he taps the microphone, unstrapping his guitar and guides Harry from the stage. Niall and Jasper trail behind, deep in hushed mutters of smoky words.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I Can’t Give You Anything But Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Anybody seen my lighter?” Tommy paces the room, ruffling his hand through the rack of coats and robes, pushing his hand into the pockets. He pulls a nickel out of one of them, flipping it into the air before slipping it into his back pocket. </p><p>Niall’s halfway through a cigarette he’s sharing with Jasper when he finally realises what Tommy’s doing. He lets out a long sigh against his cigarette smoke, watching it billow up to the dressing room ceiling in long curls.</p><p>“Well?” </p><p>“Ain’t seen it.” He shrugs, propping his legs up onto the couch with a small plod of his shoes against the material. </p><p>“Jas?” </p><p>He mimics Niall’s shrug, sarcastically raising his eyebrows. “Sorry Tom.”</p><p>They both burst into quiet giggles, Tommy narrowing his eyes at the pair. “Fuckers,” He mutters, launching himself onto his cousin until they’re wrestling on the floor like school kids, Niall’s attempts of rolling him over proving to be completely futile as he sloppily punches at his chest. “I’ve always been stronger than you, give it up.” He taunts through a sneer, quickly slamming Niall onto his stomach on the floor while pinching his wrists between one hand, expertly pulling his lighter from his back pocket. </p><p>He laughs, loud and bright, still pressed against the floor before Tommy jumps up from his straddled position, the dressing room door opening. </p><p>All eyes land on Harry, Jasper quietly cackling behind his glass of brandy while Niall lays on the floor, his hair a wild mess of heavily product induced sprays and gels styled into a now floppy quiff, loud laughs forming against the carpet. </p><p>“Look who’s here!” Jasper cheers with a boyish tone, Niall rolling onto his back with red cheeks and stifled laughs. </p><p>“What do ya want?” Tommy questions with a singular raised eyebrow, flicking his lighter against his cigarette as Harry leans one hand against the table, his body slanting forward. Tommy continues before he gets a chance to answer, pacing the room in a slow, circular motion. “You sang good tonight.” He doesn’t make eye contact, Niall turning onto his side with his head resting in his hand. “Good, not great.”</p><p>Harry hesitates before he starts, his fingers clenching around the edge of the table. “They seemed to like it.” He snaps back, a little apprehensive as his eyes scan over the different hairsprays all situated along a lopsided shelf above the mirrors. </p><p>Tommy snorts through his nose, menacing and pretentious as he outstretches one arm to Harry like a prize he’s showing off, an act in a circus. “Look what we got over here! An audience expert!” He exclaims between light puffs of his cigarette, his fingers beginning to push through woollen coats again. “I’ll tell you when they like it, alright?”</p><p>“I’m just saying,” Harry starts through the clatter of coat hangers hitting the rack, one hand fiddling with the bottom of his shirt in frustration. </p><p>“Well maybe you should stop saying shit and listen.” Tommy interrupts, mindlessly flicking through the coats. They all fall silent for a moment before he starts up the conversation again. “You see the redhead in the front row?” He barely turns his head up to Harry with a sheepish smile, licking his lips. He tilts his head against his shoulder, trying to ignore the small blush creeping up the side of his neck. </p><p>He laughs, almost silently against the cigarette. “I saw her clockin’ you. Think you could get in there.” He slouches against the wall with a wide grin, moving the cigarette to rest between his fingers, hurriedly blowing smoke to the floor before it bounces back up in soft circles.</p><p>“Nah.” He shakes his head, itching along the side of his neck with a singular finger. “I saw her with someone.” </p><p>Tommy and Jasper break out into laughs at that, Niall hoisting himself back up onto the couch. </p><p>“So? You take her for a spin.” He glides across the floor, his feet barely lifting against the carpet as he opens the wardrobe on the other side of the room. </p><p>Harry leans slightly forward, waving a hand in front of his face. “Like in what?”</p><p>“Take her in the uh, in the Plymouth.” He responds as though it’s obvious, faintly amused at Harry’s sudden smile and quick steps forward. </p><p>“Shit you’re gonna lend me the car?” He grins, instantly reaching for the keys that Tommy dangles between his fingers before he swings them back in his hands, securely clasping them behind his back. </p><p>“I might just lend you the car.” He licks his lips, blooms of cigarette smoke trailing up to the ceiling. </p><p>He hesitates again before frowning, slapping one hand against his legs. “Bullshit.”</p><p>Tommy loosely flings the keys out against his finger, one of the chains dangling by his middle finger. “Just don’t wrap yourself around a tree I don’t wanna have to fill out a load of forms.” </p><p>Harry grins, instinctively reaching for the keys again before Tommy pulls them back from his possession, shaking his head. “Look at ya! He’s chomping at the bit!” He clicks his tongue against his mouth, a light smirk present as he points to Niall and Jasper, easily sliding to sit between the two on the couch before clapping his hands together, momentarily rubbing skin against skin. </p><p>“What’s the matter with you? Sit down! There’s a couple things you gotta know first.” He pushes a hand out, motioning to the singular wooden chair pushed underneath the dressing table. </p><p>“I don’t have time for this shit.” Jasper mutters with an almost unintelligible groan, reaching his hand forward and twisting out his own cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table. </p><p>Tommy ignores him, fluttering his eyelashes as he props his body forward. “There’s two types of women, there’s type A and there’s type B.” He takes a short, momentary pause before jumping to his feet, propping his cigarette back up between his lips. Niall crosses one leg over the other, slinging his arm around the back of the couch into a more comfortable position. </p><p>“Type A, they’re real easy, they’ll get right into bed with you.” He comedically motions his hand out through his explanation before continuing. “Boom, boom, boom. Then, later on, they break your balls. Then there’s type B, ask Niall about type B. Tell him about type B.” His eyes shift to Niall who rolls his eyes, barely moving from his position, gently jutting his foot against his thigh. </p><p>“You gotta wine ‘em and dine ‘em.” He explains slowly, his fingertips edging slightly upwards. </p><p>“Then what do they do?” Tommy moves towards the window, snapping the orange curtains shut as Harry pushes his hands together, twirling his fingers against each other while impatiently listening. </p><p>“They break your balls.” Niall states like it’s a known fact, sniffing and shifting on the couch, pushing his ass further down into the leather. </p><p>“They bust-a the balls!” Tommy ecstatically grins, taking a slow stride towards Harry, his back slightly hunched and voice taking a deeper Jersey drawl. </p><p>Harry finally speaks with a face of innocence and words to match. “I don’t get it.” </p><p>Tommy howls loudly, throwing his head back until he reaches forward, cupping Harry’s chin in his right hand. He gently squeezes, slapping the side of his cheek. “Look at this face. He don’t get it!” He moves his hand after Harry groans, squirming his head back. “ Don’t worry. You will. You want the car?” He holds the keys out again, Harry going to grab them in a quick, swift move before Tommy shoves his hand away, taunting the younger boy. “Huh? Yeah? Look at him!” He slaps his cheek again, a little harder this time before Harry goes to punch back, Tommy easily catching his fist in his hand. </p><p>“Oh Harry,” Niall pities with a quiet chuckle from the other side of the room, Jasper leaning forward like he’s just watching a tv show. “Oh Harry..” </p><p>“What’s the matter?” Tommy teases again, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he moves into a boxing stance, the keys still wrapped around a finger. “You wanna fight?” He gently punches Harry’s arm who stumbles back, rapidly shaking his head. “Big man with the ladies. Come here.” He puts his cigarette out, dropping the keys onto the table and clenches his hands into fists, bouncing back and forth. “Come on, let’s go, like this.” </p><p>He hooks one arm underneath, softly punching Harry in the chest as he stumbles back, groaning and muttering. </p><p>“No..c’mon Tom.” He pleads, Tommy hitting a little harder on his arm this time. </p><p>“Like this.” He prompts again, swinging multiple times at his arms and chest, each time a little harder than the last. He hooks one final swing up, extending his palm flat the last second and slaps him around the face, a little harder than before. </p><p>“Don’t do that!” Harry shouts back, ignoring the light sting in his cheek as well as Niall and Jasper’s quiet ‘ooohhh’s’. “Don’t hit me!” </p><p>“C’mon? What happened? What happened?”</p><p>“Don’t hit me man!” He shouts back again, Tommy’s grin only widening as he balls his hand into a fist, weakly attempting to throw a punch at his friend before Tommy wraps both hands around his waist, ducking the hit before he even has a chance. He wrestles him backwards, loudly laughing as Niall shakes his head. He wraps the crook of his elbow around his neck all while he struggles, holding him in a tight headlock. </p><p>“He took a swing!” He laughs through Harry’s protests, sending him back with his arm around his neck. “Slugger.” </p><p>“Come on man!” Harry shouts back in distress, loose curls bouncing in front of his sea foam green eyes. “Let go of me!” </p><p>“Ay, ay!” They settle for a moment instead of struggling. “You listen to me alright?” His voice takes a slightly sterner tone before he loosens his grip, letting Harry stagger backwards, hitting the wall in an embarrassing half-fall. </p><p>“C’mon, little brother.” Tommy drawls, straightening up. </p><p>“I ain’t your little brother.” Harry spits back, flattening his jacket against his back and straightening his sweater vest.</p><p>“Harry. Calm down.” He motions both hands forward, the keys clanking against each other when he picks them back up from the table. “This kid takes everything so serious. You want the car? Take the car. Here, have the car.” He grabs Harry by his wrist, straightening the side of his collar and presses the keys into his hand, tapping his own hand against his. “All yours. It’s on me. Alright? Enjoy yourself. Enjoy the little porcelain doll, alright?” He motions one hand out, rocking back on his feet. </p><p>They don’t speak any longer before Harry eyes him up and down, treading his fingers over his collar. He clears his throat, nodding his head in a silent thank you before disappearing to find the redhead. </p><p>**</p><p>“So where do you wanna go?” Harry questions, trying to relax his voice as he guides the redhead (Nancy, he’s learnt) through the front door, their arms hooked together. She’s rested her bag against her shoulder, her hair still effortlessly pulled into perfectly tight curls as her heels click against the pavement, white gloves pulled over each hand. </p><p>“I don’t know.” She smiles, happily letting the younger boy pull her forward towards the mint green Plymouth parked on the sidewalk. “Where do you want to go?”</p><p>“Mexico?” He jokes, spinning the keys around his finger, the neon green light displaying the clubs name (“The Strand Club”) shimmering over the left side of his face. He earns a small, pretty laugh from the girl who clasps both hands on her bag, coming to a sudden stop at the presence of the Officer from two nights before. Two older men are lounging on the hood of the car, casually leant against it in brown suede hats and matching trench coats, the top of their thick black ties against crisp white button ups the only thing obvious underneath the coats.</p><p>“Hey, Harry.” </p><p>He freezes, his body seizing up as his fingers press together, gently picking at his nails. “Hey Officer Mike..” He responds slowly, uncertain why he’s actually there, actually talking to him. </p><p>“Detectives would like to have a word with you.” </p><p>He blinks repeatedly before his shoulders slouch, his mouth running dry. Nancy slowly backs away, disappearing back into the club while leaving Harry frozen like a deer in headlights. He turns his head just slightly to the side to look at the two men who stand up from the car, one of them smoking a cigarette, the other holding a pair of handcuffs. </p><p>Shit. </p><p>His parents are going to kill him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Sunday Kind Of Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hardback thuds on the back of his head again, the spine of the book pinching against his ear as the detective drops it onto the metal table in front of him. He flinches the second it hits him, swearing loudly at the sudden hit. </p><p>“That jog your memory?” </p><p>Harry clenches his hands, defensively staring down at his lap. He’s fifteen, he doesn’t have to tell them shit. He presses his lips closer together, his eyes peeking up at them with a closed mouth. </p><p>The detective leans down, the other flicking through files and papers opposite Harry. </p><p>“Harry.” His voice softens, both of his hands laying on the table as he stares him down, his back hunched forward. “You’re underaged, hanging around the jewellery store.” He stands back up, picking up the book with one hand. “You give the officer some bullshit about doing a Romeo act.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He mutters back, the lamp in the middle of the table flickering through his words. He shouts out in pain at the next hit of the book, instinctively moving his hand to shield his ear, a light ringing murmuring through the back of the room. </p><p>“Tommy and Jasper already gave you up!” The detective beside him looms over the back of his, resting his hand over his shoulder. </p><p>“Bullshit!” Harry shouts back this time, scraping the back legs of the chair against the floor before he forces him back into it, using a singular hand to keep him down. Tommy might not be the best person to be around but he’s trustworthy and fiercely loyal to the people he surrounds himself with. He wouldn’t drop him in it like that.</p><p>“Alright asshole.” He drops the book against one of the files, Harry still cupping his hand over his ear. The room’s practically empty opposed to filing cabinets and one lamp crookedly hanging down on the table, dark shadows lurking over the floor. “Have it your way.” </p><p>He doesn’t have chance to defend himself any longer, to try and come up with a new concoction of stupid lies to get himself out of this before he’s hoisted to his feet by a sharp tug on his bicep, being dragged into the corridor in a walk (drag, same thing) of shame.</p><p>**</p><p>Harry Styles is sixteen by the time the court date arrives. Jasper took the rap for Niall, like he hasn’t already been in and out once or twice before.  </p><p>“How old are you?”</p><p>He shifts on his feet, awkwardly pressing his hand to his ear. It’s bandaged now, still painfully sore from the hit of the book weeks ago. “Uh, sixteen, Your Honor.”</p><p>Nobody says anything next, nobody gets a chance before Tommy interjects, not taking a second glance towards his lawyer. He’s done this far too many times and with that cheeky smile and flutter of the eyelashes he doesn’t have to worry too much. “Please, Your Honor, the kid didn’t know what he was doing. I conned him into it.” He smoothly picks his words, calm and collected, rolling off the tip of his tongue.</p><p>The judge doesn’t say anything for a moment, ominously shifting through papers and files as Harry stares down at the floor, his hands tightly clasped behind his back. </p><p>“I’m letting you off with a warning.” He finally decides with a sigh, much to Harry’s relief. “I suggest you get yourself a new set of friends.” He continues, eyes shifting to Tommy, only flickering to Jasper once. “If I see you back in my courtroom again, you’re going away. Now get out of here.” </p><p>He doesn’t hesitate on pushing back on his feet, Tommy outstretching one hand towards the younger boy, holding it behind his back with his wrist tilted upwards. “H, sing good.” </p><p>He gives him a quick slap of the hand, being pulled back by his mother a second later. It’s probably better not to say anything now. She places a hand down on his back, guiding him towards the door with a gloved hand and purple frock, pearls strung around her neck. His father’s just behind, hat resting in his hand in one of the best suits from the closet. It’s simple really, a light grey with matching ties and Italian leather shoes, thin hair pushed back into a smart, suitable style. </p><p>“You’re the devil you know that Tommy?” Jude raises her voice, impatiently shoving Harry towards the door as he scratches the edge of his nose with one finger, head hung down in shame. </p><p>“Oh, holier than art thou.” He mocks back with a light eye roll, his shoulders rolling backwards until he clasps his hands together, the door jarring open by Harry’s left foot. </p><p>“Just stay away from my son. Okay? You stay away from my son Tommy!” With that she pushes Harry out of the door and into the corridor, Anthony shouting at him in Italian. </p><p>Tommy doesn’t give them much of a response, instead rasping out a mock high pitch of Earth Angel before Jasper tugs him back around by his shoulder, the court room falling silent again, all eyes on the judge.</p><p>“Thomas Hill.” He starts with a suppressed sigh, pulling the file in front of him on the marble desk. “Let’s see.” He pulls out a singular piece of paper from the file, adjusting his glasses at the base of his nose. “Breaking and entering, possession of stolen property, possession of stolen property, breaking and entering, possession of a forged document, breaking and entering, illegal gaming.” His lip twitches, his eyes guiding back to the young man. “That’s quite a résumé.” </p><p>He shrugs with a light roll of the shoulders again, his fingers flexing against his back and a cocky half-grin present. “Thank you, Your Honor.”</p><p>“So the kid’s a singer?” He smiles this time, genuine. </p><p>“He’s a good singer.” He confirms with a nod of his head, Jasper still taking the easy option of silence. After all he’s going away for a crime he had nothing to do with. Well, maybe he gave Tommy a tip but he had no part in it! “He’s getting better every day.” </p><p>The judge smiles, scribbling down incomprehensible words, the end of the pen wiggling in the air. “He ought to be great by the time you get out then.” The man’s smile falters, taking a more serious tone. “Six months.” </p><p>**</p><p>“Look after him.” Tommy insists, throwing his keys at Niall without a flicker of the eyes towards him. He catches them in one hand, leaning against the car, his eyes squinting against the sunlight. </p><p>“Yeah, alright.” </p><p>“I mean it.” He walks slowly forward, turning back on his feet to look at his cousin. “Teach him. Anything happens to Harry and you have a problem with me.” He points one finger towards him, slowly stalking back on his feet with his other hand shielding the sun from his eyes. </p><p>“Alright! See ya in six months!” Niall teases, sliding back into the Plymouth as it starts with a slow rumble of the engine, Tommy shoving his hands into his pockets. </p><p>So it’s back to the joint. Rahway Correctional. They’ve got a revolving door on the place, someone from the neighbourhood is always inside, the next one going in when the other comes out. </p><p>“Welcome back, Tommy.” One of the guards greets with a small crook of the lip and a raised eyebrow. </p><p>“You got a promotion?” He raises his eyebrow back in unison, faintly amused, somewhat actually interested as he stretches his hand out to shake his. </p><p>“Yeah.” He takes his hand back with a firm grip before guiding him back inside, their hands separating. He doesn’t really need the guidance, he knows the place like the back of his hand.</p><p>“How‘s life, the kids? The wife?” </p><p>“Not too bad. Yourself?” It’s a question that should probably be more difficult to answer than it is, a question that would be the last thing someone expected a guard to ask a prisoner, nonetheless, here they are making pleasant conversation like old friends bumping into one another on the street. </p><p>“Alright.” He shrugs, coming to a sudden stop as they pass the door, his head cocking backwards to the younger guard positioned at the door with a pen and clipboard propped up against his chest, anxiously watching on his first round. “Who’s the new guy?”</p><p>With a faint chuckle and a head shake, Tommy’s edged down the hallway towards one of the cells and he supposes he should get used to it. </p><p>This is home for the next six months.</p><p>**</p><p>“Niall.” The brunette huffs, her shoes clicking against the cobblestones. “Niall.” She repeats, tone laced with frustration. He ignores her the more she speaks, his fingers expertly tangling around the lock of the door until the chain snaps off, a wicked grin twitching onto his lips. He easily unravels the chain from the door, slumping it onto the floor with a low clank as Harry’s torch flickers against their hands. </p><p>“Niall!” She raises her voice this time as he pushes the doors to the church open, both Harry and the brunette following after him in unison as he speed walks through the main entrance. It’s rather old, wooden beams and marble flooring, slips of the moon passing through glass stained windows, flickering candles still lit along one side panel. “For gods sakes, I thought we were going to the movies?”</p><p>“Relax will ya?” He finally permits her an answer with a lengthy eye roll, popping his collar against the back of his neck all while swerving around pews and letting his feet slide across the gloss floors like a child in an amusement park, ignoring the fact they just broke into a church. </p><p>She hurries after him, heels clicking against the floor again. “But I wanna see the-”</p><p>Niall spins on his feet, pressing a singular finger to her lips. “Two minutes. Sit down.” He takes a pause, moving his hand back and motions it towards one of the empty pews, his shadow reflecting against the torch light. “Read the Bible.” He suggests with a light grin. “Improve your mind.” His voice takes a more sarcastic tone, eyes tauntingly wide as he skirts backwards from her body, beckoning two fingers towards Harry. </p><p>“Harry c’mon.” He follows in suit, picking up into a light jog along the floors. Niall takes it upon himself to slide down one of the banisters, jumping back to his feet at the last moment to pick up into a staggered speed walk towards the organ. </p><p>The brunette follows, much to her distress, hitting the side of her torch from a short distance. “Niall!” She whines, annoyingly high pitch as he positions himself onto the leather seat, scooting it forward to rest closer to the keys, hands instinctively moving to the right places. </p><p>Harry rests his arm against the side of his hip, pushing the bottom of his jacket back as he shines the light down onto the keys for Niall. </p><p>“You remember the words?” Niall quizzes, once again ignoring the girl as he turns his head to Harry, his thumb pressing down on one of the keys for a light moment, barely getting a noise from it. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah.” Harry mumbles back, his wrist flexing against the heavy metal of the torch. </p><p>“Don’t push.” Niall turns his head back, sucking in a long breath. “More from the inside, remember?” </p><p>He eagerly nods back, his hand pinching the leather of his belt as the brunette tentatively steps up onto the platform, moving to rest in front of them. </p><p>Niall doesn’t hesitate in pressing his fingers down onto the keys, Harry slowly beginning to sing as he plucks the music from the organ. His voice echoes around the halls of the church, bouncing back against glass stained windows into a concoction of harmonious tones and loud wind pipes.</p><p>Niall starts to add in the tenor vocals as he becomes more comfortable, simple “da dums” melting into the chorus with a sly grin, his fingers smoothly tracing the keys along with a head nod in time to the beat. </p><p>The brunette begins to join in with their singing by the chorus, the female vocals easily tangling into their own. He lets his fingers trail down the organ, his fingers pushing on the keys a little harder, each plunge of music a little louder than the one before.</p><p>“There!” They’re interrupted by the shout of a woman, a police officer stood next to her. He’s much younger than the others Harry encountered in the last few months, tall and rather brooding. Niall instantly jumps up from the chair, sending it backwards with a loud clatter as it hit the tiles. “Told you it wasn’t no vision.”</p><p>“Niall.” The officer starts, impatiently nodding towards him. “Harry.” He finishes, Harry’s sheepish smile evident in mere seconds. </p><p>“Stanley!” Niall plasters a cheeky, persuasive grin over his face, saluting towards the officer before he nods towards the nun, eyes bright. “Sister, looking good.”</p><p>“Really Niall? Breaking into a church?” He reaches towards his belt, Niall swallowing the thick lump in his throat, his forehead burning as he bites his inner cheek. “You’re on parole for christ’s sake!” He sighs, unclipping a pair of handcuffs from his belt, Niall wincing the moment he does.</p><p>“Oh come on Stanley.” He purses his lips into a pout, an innocent gleam in his eyes.</p><p>“Give me your hands.” He insists without argument, clicking the handcuffs open. Niall can’t do much but obey, sighing as he extends his wrists out, holding them together in front of his chest, the officer quickly cuffing his hands. </p><p>“I guess this means goodnight.” The brunette interrupts, ponytail slopping from side to side with each head movement. “Well at least I know where your hands are gonna be.” She continues with a thick accent and teeters back from her heels, body tensed in confidence. </p><p>“Need some help there Stanley?” He mutters, only earning a glare as the man fumbles with the cuff, finally clicking them together against its wrists. </p><p>Harry finally feels a surge of confidence, taking a steady step forward with a light frown. “You take him you gotta take me too.” </p><p>The officer almost laughs, tugging Niall forward towards the empty hallway, his shoes heavy against the floor. “Aren’t you supposed to be home by eleven?” He taunts, voice echoey as Niall shrugs his arm away, well attempts. </p><p>“Careful on the suit Stanley, it’s important. Work on that B flat Harry! Chest voice!” His voice becomes more distant the further he gets pulled down the marble flooring. “And do your exercises!” The final shout comes a little less faint as he’s dragged out of sight, Harry’s cheeks flaring up a light pink, anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach. </p><p>“Take it easy, Stanley, we’re walking out of a church here.” The sarcastic comment turns to the rustle of doors being pushed open, Niall’s voice disappearing altogether as a gust of autumn night wind pushes through the church. </p><p>“Let’s get out of here,” Harry mutters, blinking up at the brunette through thick, long eyelashes, the two quickly rushing past the organ and down the stairwell into the night.</p>
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